Bright Wicked 2: Radiant Fierce (A Twilight Fae Fantasy Romance)

by Everly Frost

  Chapter 11

  Nathaniel wrenches his arms out of the water, splashing liquid around us as he arches back to rip off his shirt.

  In another heartbeat, his arms plunge back into the water, sliding beneath my back, dragging me up and out of the bath and up against him. Liquid sloshes across the floor, pouring down his legs and across his feet as he hooks one arm under my knees, the other behind my shoulders.

  He doesn’t pause for breath and he doesn’t slow down, carrying me from the bathroom into the bedroom. Aside from the bed, it contains only a small chest of drawers and a closet, not unlike my room in Bright.

  He slides me to my feet, the pressure between us setting my senses alight. His expression is intent, unwavering, and I shiver as I realize that whatever he intends right now, nothing will stop him from doing it.

  “Trust me,” he says, more a command than a request.

  “I do.”

  As soon as I speak, he spins me so I’m facing away from him, but he releases my hips just as quickly, the gap between us filling with cold air as he steps to the side. Reaching past me, he wrenches a blanket off the bed and wraps it around my shoulders to keep me warm. It’s large enough that it reaches my feet and covers me completely.

  Still standing behind me, he draws my wet hair across my back and positions it across my right shoulder, leaving it to drip down the front of the blanket.

  Then he tugs the blanket down to expose my left shoulder.

  I gasp as he drops a kiss against my bared shoulder blade. His touch is not light like before, but demanding, his lips tasting my skin before he draws back.

  “Stay there.”

  I count my heartbeats as he steps to the drawers, opens the bottom one, and pulls out a small bottle. Inky gold liquid swirls inside it that reminds me of molten metal. Striding back to me, he removes the lid and drops it onto the bed. Placing his finger over the small opening, he tips the liquid over the forefinger of his right hand.

  Still intent on my shoulder, his finger sweeps across my skin. Three strokes on the right—the rays of the sun—and a strong curve on the left—the shape of the moon. But then he surprises me by making another mark, one he didn’t make before—a press of his finger in the center of the symbol.

  I shiver as he blows across the ink to help it dry, his breath whispering back and forth across my skin.

  Wrapping his free arm around my waist, he turns me back to face him. I meet the intensity in his eyes as he propels me back to the edge of the bed, moving me like he’s dancing with me again. When I bump against it, he eases me down so I’m sitting on its edge.

  His movements now are determined and intent. With a challenging smile, he eases my left knee to the side, his hand slipping beneath the blanket to press firmly against the inside of my thigh so he can kneel between my legs.

  Despite the brief stroke of his fingers, he removes his hand, remaining focused on my left shoulder, this time around the location of my heart. Tugging the blanket lower so it barely conceals my breast, he kisses the scar that sits above my heart, his lips warm and soft, but just as demanding as when he kissed my back.

  Drawing back, he paints his name across my heart—three rays on the right—before he sweeps slowly across the upper curve of my breast, his touch lingering in a way that makes my toes curl against the wooden floor.

  He presses his finger above the curve of my scar, a nearly perfect circle in the middle of his family name.

  “This is you,” he says, meeting my eyes. “The center of my world.”

  Droplets of water cling to his chest. His jaw is damp from pressing against my hair. The bottle is still gripped firmly in his hand, so I know he’s not finished marking me. Even so, I edge forward, duck under his chin, and plant a kiss at the edge of his jaw, inhaling the intoxicating caramel scent of his skin as I graze my lips against his stubble. “You missed a spot.”

  A crease appears on his forehead at my declaration.

  I pull back and tug the blanket down to my waist, pointing to the space beneath my right breast. “Here.”

  The crease in his forehead vanishes. In a single determined stroke, his left hand follows the curve of my breast down to rest across my ribs. I gasp at the sensations that shoot through to my center. Every time he touches me, every stroke is like fanning flames, but nothing comes close to easing the ache growing inside me.

  “Here too,” I whisper, dragging the blanket away from my waist and pointing to the lower curve of my hip.

  The corner of his mouth hitches up into a sudden half-smile, but he gives me a firm shake of his head. No.

  Damn.

  My body is beyond aching.

  He tips the bottle one more time before he replaces the lid and reaches for my face.

  I close my eyes as his finger sweeps across my cheeks in firm movements. No gentle strokes. His palm cups my jaw, my chin, and my neck in turns, branding my entire face, even though he’s only drawing on parts of it. He finally presses his fingertip against the space between my eyebrows, leaving what I imagine looks like a golden jewel on my forehead.

  His head tilts to mine so he can blow across the ink, casting shivery sensations through me so intense that goosebumps form and my stomach tightens. I can’t stop the moan that escapes from my mouth, needing release.

  Dark stars. I fight the instinct to rock into him, to shift forward and demand the warmth of his body against mine.

  His hands grip me firmly, compelling me to stay where I am.

  “The ink isn’t allowed to smudge,” he says, releasing me to slide his hands through my hair, drawing the strands more firmly across my right shoulder. “That means we have to take care until it dries.”

  I now wear his name on both the back and front of my left shoulder, along with my face.

  I’ll smudge it if I lie down on either side.

  I’ll smudge it if my hair falls across it.

  He could smudge it if he kisses me on either side of my mouth.

  Tipping his head to the side, he very carefully fits a kiss to the central curve of my lips, nudging them apart to taste the soft dip of my upper lip. At the same time, he firmly grips my right shoulder so I can’t lean into him. I let out a frustrated groan that turns into a heated inhale when he drags his palm down my right side to rest across my breast, his fingers tangling half in my hair, half cupping my curves.

  His lips hover above mine, but his breathing is not in control anymore.

  “When I came for you, I had no idea I’d find a strong, complicated, beautiful woman who challenges everything I do and say,” he says. “I’ve already chosen you, Aura. All that remains is for you to choose me.”

  He dips his head, tastes my upper lip again. His thumb grazes across my breast. I spiral beneath his touch, my back arching, reaching for his torso, needing to drag him up against me and close the gap, even though he stops me, holding me tightly and forcing me to remain where I am.

  “Say yes,” he whispers.

  Saying yes means accepting the consequences of loving him. The consequences of loving him will kill me. He wants me to make a decision based only on us, but everything outside this place makes a difference too.

  He wants me to forget about the Law of Champions and be with him, but I can’t.

  He wants me to fight for his people, but I can’t.

  He wants to claim me—has already claimed me—but I can’t let him.

  “All we have is now, Aura,” he says, compelling me to listen to him. “Nothing else is certain. Tomorrow isn’t certain. But I promise you, I will die before I let anything happen to you.”

  My eyes fly wide. The only way I won’t die in the final fight is if I beat him… or if he chooses to let me kill him.

  “No!” My power shrieks through me and I shove him away from me so hard that he loses his balance and lands on his backside. Even leaning back on his hands, he somehow manages to appear in control, muscles tensed, eyes alight, lethally dangerous despite the fact that I knocked him on his
ass.

  The bright flash of starlight fades, leaving the room somehow darker as I stand over him. My sudden movement upset the blanket and it slips from my waist, one side barely clinging to my hip, but I don’t care that I’m fully naked again.

  “You will not die for me, Nathaniel Shield,” I say through gritted teeth, a hot mess of stormy rage rising inside me. “At the end of the third day, you will fight me with all of your strength. You will strike and cleave and hurt me. You will try to tear me apart. You will fight me as your enemy because that’s what I’ll be.”

  Yesterday, he told me that he and I would grapple against each other, fight our honor, fight our hearts, and struggle to do what we need to do, right up until the bloody end.

  He jumps back to his feet, moving with stealth, his powerful legs bringing him closer with each step, dangerously close despite the tingle of power in my fingertips, starlight swirling around my hands and threatening to strike again.

  He speaks forcefully. “If I promise to fight you on the last day with every power within me, will you choose me?” he asks. “Even if I also promise to protect you against everyone else before then?”

  My breathing is erratic. My heart pounds. He’s offering to love me for what remains of the last two days we have left, to protect me from whatever threatens us. And then, on the final day, to fight me as he should.

  I place all of the strength of my power into my voice. “You will promise me, Nathaniel. And you won’t lie.”

  He watches me like a prowling wolf. “I promise you.”

  I shoot back. “Yes.”

  He halts. The friction between us increases as he registers my response. His gaze burns a line from my bare toes to my hair slung over my shoulder, to my eyes and lips, taking in every inch of me.

  Two powerful strides bring him to me.

  Sweeping the clinging blanket away from my side, he grips both of my hips, his calloused palms resting against the tops of my thighs, before he propels me back toward the edge of the bed, but this time, he turns us so that he’s the one bumping the edge of it.

  He lets me go, only to remove his clothing, discarding his boots and pants and kicking them to the side before he pulls me toward him again.

  One hand on my hip. The other on my right shoulder.

  “No smudges.” He growls, sinking onto the edge of the bed and pulling me with him.

  Lifting one leg after the other, I climb onto the bed as he guides me forward, one knee on either side of his thighs while he continues to grip both my hip and my shoulder.

  He stops me before I can sink downward, applying force to my hip that pins me above him, my legs apart, straddling him in a position that leaves me more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.

  “Trust me,” he whispers. His breathing is frustratingly even again. One corner of his mouth hitches into a smile, his lips slightly parted as he shifts both of his hands. One to splay around my torso across my breast. The other stroking down to my center, easing across my sensitive folds before sliding a finger inside me.

  I shiver and rock against his hand, moving on instinct as pleasure strikes through me. My back arches and I plant my hands against his shoulders, anchoring myself as moans escape my mouth. My eyes fly open when he slips his finger from me, only to slide two fingers in. Intense sensation bursts through me and it feels like I’m going to tear apart as he gives me control, allowing me to slide slowly down onto his hand.

  His grip tightens around my torso and his voice is gruff, suddenly questioning. “Aura… have you done this before?”

  I attempt to form coherent speech as I move ever-so-slowly against him. “Once. I think. I don’t remember it.”

  He looks thoughtful, maybe even concerned, and I know what he’s thinking—how can I not remember? I can’t explain that I passed out in the middle. I was drunk on bluebells at the Ball after I ascended to Champion. I didn’t know the fae’s name, woke up alone, and never saw him again.

  The muscle in Nathaniel’s jaw clenches. “You’ll remember this, I promise you.”

  His voice resonates through me like a caress. I lean forward to press my lips against his, needing his mouth. He groans low in the back of his throat as my tongue darts between his lips, proving that he’s not as in control as he appears.

  His mouth is intoxicating.

  His scent fills my head.

  My power responds by flickering around us, glowing brightly in a thin thread like a ribbon curling around and between us in one continuous strand.

  Last night, my release was nearly instant, a mere plunge of his tongue into my mouth. I seek that relief again, even though I’m not ready for the connection between us to end.

  He refuses to open his mouth to mine despite my insistent kisses, a wild smile growing across his lips as his fingers slide out of me.

  Taking hold of my hips, he finally uses his strength to put me where he wants me, angling my hips so he can slide inside me, drawing me down onto him with one strong thrust.

  I gasp. Scream. Inhale. Don’t know which.

  Pure pleasure bursts through me. Starlight strikes the air, the ribbon snaking around his torso lighting up his chest and heart. A thread of white light shoots through him, spearing across the gap between us and piercing my own heart like a needle, threading us together.

  I arch back as he controls my movements by lifting and driving my hips to the rhythm he wants. Every beat strikes through me, breaking apart my foundations, shaking every doubt, every question from my mind.

  “Aura.”

  The sound of my name on his lips, the curve of his mouth as he speaks it, the rapid rise and fall of his hard chest beneath my hands, the wild dark in his eyes…

  I wrench my hips from his grip, control the thrust, and shatter so hard around him that my world tears apart. He tenses, pauses—then his fingers curl around my hips again as he crashes with me.

  I drag air into my chest, my palms slick with sweat against his muscles, my fingertips slipping to his stomach as I ride the waves, ripples of pleasure that continue to ebb throughout my entire body for long moments after as I sink toward him.

  At the last moment, the golden mark glitters at the edge of my vision and worry strikes through me that we smeared them.

  The only mark I can see is the one above my heart.

  It’s in perfect condition.

  “No smudges,” I declare, meeting Nathaniel’s stormy eyes.

  “Fuck the smudges,” he says, hooking my legs around his waist, wrapping his arms around me, and flipping me onto my back. His hand rakes across the ink over my heart before he rears back to check his palm.

  “Dry.”

  His lips curl up into a smile before his mouth crashes against mine, driving my lips apart, finally kissing me fully.

  My thighs clench around him, making him groan. When his tongue plunges into my mouth, I arch and shatter again, this time low and soft, but just as complete.

  Gasping for breath, I stare up at him, wide-eyed. My body is wildly out of my control, determined to shock me.

  To shock him, too.

  “Dark stars, Aura.” He stares down at me before he leans on one elbow to free up his hand and carefully brush his thumb across my upper lip. The way he touches my mouth now is as if he sees it as some sort of weapon.

  His eyelids lower a little as his smile becomes incredibly lazy. “If that’s all it takes…”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He draws me back into his arms, tangles his fingers in my hair, and starts all over again.

  Chapter 12

  I resist the urge to trace my finger across Nathaniel’s jaw as he sleeps. I’m curled up in his arms, our legs tangled, the weight of his upper arm heavy across my torso. It must be close to lunchtime by now. Nathaniel has slept for a few precious hours, but I can’t close my eyes, even though the room is as dark as he could make it for me. He nailed rugs across the windows, took everything out of the room, made it as empty and uncluttered as possible. But there’s no
stopping the glow between us and I refuse to shift to the far side of the bed.

  Not only that… My mind won’t let me rest. Every minute with Nathaniel now is precious. The Vanem Dragon said that by the time we fight, we will have walked a thousand miles in each other’s shoes. We will understand each other’s hearts and know the other better than we know ourselves.

  Nathaniel wants me to fight for his people, to help free them from Cyrian’s rule, but the question that burns me is: What then?

  He stirs beside me, tugging me closer, his strong arms compelling me to curl up against him.

  “Can’t sleep?” he murmurs against my hair.

  I shake my head. I often stay awake until after lunch. I’m used to functioning on as little as three hours of sleep each day, but I’ll definitely need to sleep between the second and sixth hours of the afternoon so I’m ready to wake up at dusk when the sun sinks below the horizon.

  He lets out a low, soft laugh. “Dark stars, woman. I was sure you were exhausted.”

  I smile against his shoulder, tipping my head back to see him. I can just make out the light playing in his eyes in the darkened room.

  “We have less than two days left to fight Cyrian,” I whisper.

  He’s suddenly awake. “Straight to the point.”

  I brush my fingers against his jaw, casting light between us as I pin him with my gaze. A Champion’s gaze. “I’ve trained in strategy since I was ten years old. Whatever you plan to do, I’ve destroyed your timeline by invoking the Law of Champions.” I gesture in the general direction of the courtyard. “Are your people ready to fight?”

  I roll back as he props himself up on one elbow, my light catching the shape of his broad shoulders and biceps. “Yes,” he says. “That’s why I came for you. We’ve been working on the attack strategy for the last year, right down to the last detail. We plan to attack the castle under the cover of night.”

  “It has to be tonight,” I say. “Tomorrow is too late.”